So, that makes sense

It's been a helluva week.

But now, today, tonight, I'm much more relaxed. Mellow, almost. Not quite, but getting there. Still not sleeping very much, and when I do, I have dreams about weighing myself on a golden scale. It's awful. So stressful. I keep shrinking and shrinking. I think the scale must be wrong, so I do what I always do in dreams - I don't pinch myself. For some reason, I go to a mirror. In real life, if things are surreal and I wonder what's real and what's not - like maybe, I feel like I'm spinfalling in love & since that is foreign to me, I find a mirror. I guess my face is the only one I trust, a therapist might possibly suggest. Maybe she's right. Maybe he is. All I know is what I do and what I do is find a mirror.

So, in my dream, I step off the golden scale and walk to a huge, thick, shiny - super shiny - glossy - mirror. It's so stressful. So traumatic, to me. The more people throw at me, the more I have to juggle and the more I have to juggle, the faster they throw and I am speedrunjumpbouncing to catch up and keep up with them. I'm making my face so still and my breath even, too. Making it look like a breeze.

But, see, here's the thing: it takes so much energy. So, so much energy.

And in front of my eyes, I am shrinking. I go up close to the mirror. This must be a dream. I look like me, but the harder I stare, the more confused I get and I'm shrinking and shrinking and I hate how they stare.

Juggling. Juggling. Tumbletripmoonbouncing for all of my worth.

But, all my reserves are spent.

I'm through-er than through. I'm spent-er than spent.

Of course, it's a dream, so I dream up some badass food, and I'm standing naked in front of the glassy glossy mirror of me and somehow, now, the bathroom is brighter and whiter which makes me uncomfortable and that makes me shrink and that makes me anxious and that makes me shrink

I want to freak out, but I get centered, and since I'm not very centered at all - only trying to be - I run fast for a crutch to chase off my Weak.

I eat this humongous DagwoodJohnsonBoy triple decker sandwich with cartoonish-type colorfully hanging out over the edges meat and lettuce and probably tomatoes – and, since it’s a dream, nothing spills over the edges onto my face or floor or even my hands and the bread is warmly, softly purrfect.

So, I’m eating and eating and I watch myself still tragically shrinking and everything I do has me shrinking some more which leads me to shrinking some more.

And then …

Hmmmmmmmmmm … Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …

I stop reacting to the mirror and the shrinking and angry stares and hateful glares and I don’t know if they go away or if I do, but I am no longer aware of shrinking or growing or size at all, and pretty soon I forget about being cursed with a body in the first place, and then we shift … and, now … what’s important to me, and to all of the ones who stare, is what we let ourselves be … not what we let ourselves see.

And seeing is still believing, but now we are choosing what we see and we only see such wonderful things and eyes full of wonder find power in beauty and we are blind to everything but. So, stronger and stronger are we and you and I and me and us. More beauty, more power, more Seeing in us, more Being in us.


So, they say we dream stuff like that in little 30 second spurts. (Which makes me wonder if dreams are mindsex – I mean, of course, they are to me; you know this; I say it all the time. But what I mean is: What if it’s like that for real real. Not just in a figurative way in a stupid girl’s head. As if each dream is an orgasm – achieved by either mental masturbation or mental copulation with another coursing, surging soul.)

So, anyway, they say we dream stuff like that in little 30 second spurts, which confuses me to a certain degree until I think about my thoughts on “pre” “diction” and what society means when they say it and what I think it really says about understanding things before you have words to explain how or why you understand it – understanding, before words – PRE. before. DICTION. words.

So, when I dwell on that for a moment.

After I really let that soak into my blood,

I decide it makes perfect sense. Tu sabe?

You know?

We say so much more when we do not have to slow down to make words.

So, that makes sense.